The Blush Factor by Deborah Bladon

Chapter Sixteen

Faith

Dear Diary,

I was so close to Matthew tonight that I could have reached out and touched him. Technically, I did touch him. He offered me his arm as we were leaving the restaurant, so I took it.

Women actually stared at him as we passed them on our way out the door. I swear one tossed me a stink eye because she was jealous.

I don’t blame her.

He was as hot as the center of an erupting volcano in the suit he was wearing.

Speaking of eruptions. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to feel him coming in my mouth.

What sounds would he make? What would his face look like? Would he say my name as he came? Or… would he be so lost in his pleasure that he’d slam his cock into the back of my throat until he released every drop?

There’s no way I’m going to be able to fall asleep tonight without touching myself first.

-F.U.

I reread what I wrote in my diary last night before I fell asleep.

Actually, I wrote it before I masturbated and then finally went to bed.

I woke up this morning with a start, convinced that I had imagined the part of our conversation last night where Matthew said I could repay him for sharing his ride with dinner.

Maybe he was joking?

“You look puzzled.” Gwynn places her phone down on the table we’re sitting at. “What’s up?”

We’re back at the bakery for a late afternoon pick-me-up in the form of a shared piece of chocolate cake.

It was Gwynn’s idea since one of her distant cousins is celebrating their birthday today.

Today was my treat.

“I’m just wondering how they can make cake taste this good,” I lie as I slam my diary shut and tuck it into my backpack.

To me, any cake tastes good, even the boxed cake mixes I sometimes bake so I can have a sweet treat at home when the mood strikes.

“They use imported chocolate,” she retorts. “And expensive vanilla. I asked for the recipe once. The woman behind the counter told me to take some courses on bakery chemistry and food science so I could apply for a position as an intern and then, maybe, just maybe, if I did well, they’d hire me, and after I put in ten good years in the kitchen, she’d show me the recipe.”

I bust out a laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m dead serious.” She giggles. “It’s one of those I’ll have to kill you if I tell you secrets. We all have them, so I get it.”

I nod.

“Your diary is full of them,” she says flippantly. “You were reading one of them just now when I was talking on the phone.”

I thought she hadn’t noticed what I was doing while she spoke to one of her roommates on the phone. Her side of the conversation was animated and focused on the timing of their showers.

From what I overheard, Gwynn was forced to take a cold shower this morning even though it was the last thing she wanted.

“It wasn’t nearly as good as this secret chocolate cake recipe,” I say, trying to divert her attention away from my diary. “If you ever need a warm shower, you can come to my apartment.”

“Faith is always there to save the day.” She winks. “If your place had another bedroom, I’d move in with you.”

I’m grateful it doesn’t.

This is my first experience being on my own, and I love it. Even though my parents arranged to cover the rent with my mom’s friend, I insisted that I pay for my food and incidentals.

I saved almost every dime I had made at my gap year job. I added that to the same account that I’ve been depositing all of the monetary birthday gifts my folks have given me. With enough budgeting and some work during my semester breaks, I can handle my own expenses until I graduate from medical school.

“I’m going to eat this last bite,” she warns me as the fork in her hand skims the edge of the small square piece. “This is your last chance to get it.”

Pretending to reach for my fork, I narrow my eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She scoops it up before it disappears between her lips. “I did, and if given the chance, I’d do it over again.”

* * *

“What night works for you, Faith?”

If I thought Dr. Hawthorne was joking about wanting to share one of my Axel NY meals with me, I don’t think that now. His question confirms that he’s dead serious.

It also confirms that he spotted me in this crowded elevator.

I didn’t think he noticed me when he boarded since six other people were blocking his view from me.

Those six people are talking amongst themselves about investments, short selling, and things that I have yet to learn about.

Once I’m working full-time as a doctor, I can start thinking about how to manage my finances. For now, it’s all about wearing the clothing I brought with me from Hartford and buying whatever food is cheapest to eat.

I catch his eye as he turns to glance at me over his shoulder. “What night works for you?”

I thought that was a better choice than if I had blurted out tonight. I don’t want to seem eager to spend more time with him, but that’s exactly what I am.

“Tomorrow,” he says smoothly before he smiles at one of the women in the elevator who is dressed in a power suit and sporting a four hundred dollar haircut.

I’m estimating the price of that based on what Gwynn has told me about the salon one of her roommates works at. It’s on Park Avenue and only serves a select clientele.

The woman in the suit shifts slightly, so she’s closer to him.

She has to be closer to his age than I am. She probably has loads of life experience that far surpasses my own in the bedroom and out of it.

Matthew cocks a brow. “Does tomorrow work?”

I like that he’s still focused on me even though the woman between us keeps trying to catch his attention with her breathy sighs and the twirl of her finger in her red hair.

“Tomorrow works for me,” I say.

That lures the woman’s gaze to me. She shoots me a half-cocked smile that I take as a ‘good for you, girl’.

I offer her back a grin.

“Why don’t you bring something tasty over to my place at eight?” Matthew suggests. “I’ll have the table set and waiting for you.”

Um, what?

I thought we were going to sit at my crowded dining room table and eat one of the take-out meals straight from the container with two of the mismatched forks the octogenarian left behind when he moved out.

“Okay,” I answer with a tremor in my tone. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

When we reach our floor, he doesn’t get off. Instead, he continues his ride up. I assume that’s so he can visit Roman and his family.

I race to my apartment door, unlock it and storm inside with my heart battering around inside my chest.

“He invited me to his place,” I whisper to myself. “I’m going to be inside his apartment.”

I drop everything in my hands and dance in a circle, not caring if he extended the invite because he’s a good neighbor.

A few days ago, he didn’t know who I was. A little more than twenty four hours from now, I’ll be in his apartment.

How the hell is this my life?